


His Day In Court

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Dark, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-29
Updated: 2006-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Logan knew he was sick, even as he wrapped his hand around himself and pulled hard...</i> Strange Logan POV in 2x21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Day In Court

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://loveathons.livejournal.com/profile)[**loveathons**](http://loveathons.livejournal.com/) courtroom smut challenge.

Logan knew he was fucking sick, even as he wrapped his hand around his dick and pulled _hard_ , free hand pressed against the cold tile wall of the bathroom wall, breath coming out in short, erratic gasps.

He could still hear his father’s lawyer’s words ringing through his ears, painful and harsh. _Brutal_. Lies woven upon lies in the most disgusting testament to Aaron Echolls’ own inflated ego yet.

 _Veronica wanted Aaron._

 _Veronica came on to Aaron._

 _Veronica lied about it all._

The horrifying thing was how _plausible_ it all sounded. Even to him, who knew what a revolting manipulator his father was. The jury, the witless, blinded masses of Neptune, never stood a chance against his father’s most elaborate performance yet. Logan’s forehead came to rest against the sterile white tiles of the wall, and his breathing hitched as the friction of his hand around his cock pulled him closer and closer to climax.

If there was _anything_ good to say about this situation, it was that at least he was properly disgusted by that part. But the rest…

 _The way Veronica’s lip curled in horror._

 _The way Veronica’s stomach seemed to churn at the very notion._

 _The fear and horror in Veronica’s eyes when Aaron gave her his patented leer._

Logan had never seen that in all his eighteen years. Every girl, every friend, every _one_ he’d ever known had looked into Aaron’s eyes and been enchanted. Lilly had even fucked the bastard. Caitlin had wanted to, he knew. Even sweet, innocent Hannah had hesitantly asked whether it had been exciting growing up. His friends thought he was so lucky, so _famous_. Even his own mother had sat back with her liquor and sipped and sipped until the sound of his flesh ripping with pain was nothing but a distant buzz.

But Veronica… She _hated_ Aaron. As much as Logan did.

She saw that he was disgusting and vile and horrible and…

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” Logan growled into the overly chilled air of the courtroom bathroom.

He shouldn’t be here like this, fucking running into the bathroom in the middle of his father’s _trial_ in order to jack off to the image of Veronica’s nauseous expression. Shouldn’t be chanting out his new mantra in pleasure only two rooms down from where she’d just had to face down the man who tried to murder her:

“She hates him, she hates him, she hates him…”

He’d wanted her then, more than he’d ever wanted her before. Even with her tongue in his mouth and her hand cupping him through his jeans as they ground their hips together in the back seat of his car last summer, he hadn’t wanted her this much. Passion was a dime a dozen, and her passion for him had dissolved into nothing just as soon as Duncan had crooked his finger in her direction again. But loathing… Loathing lasted. It burned through souls and ate away at hearts until there was nothing good, nothing happy, left.

Loathing was all he’d known since she’d thrown him out all those months ago.

And now she was with him too, like him. All over again…

He could’ve taken her there on the stand, if a thousand – a million – reasons hadn’t stopped him. _He_ could’ve taken her, and Aaron couldn’t have. He shouldn’t revel in that fact, shouldn’t cling to it like it was the breath of life itself, but he did.

“She hates him, she hates him, she hates him…”

And then, somehow, in the mix, came the soft, husky whisper: “ _I_ hate him…”

He didn’t know how it was logical – or even _possible_ – for her to be there, but he heard her voice behind him, whispering those three perfect words:

“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him…”

The hand on his cock was smaller now, wrapping around his own fingers and taking over for him. Hot, penetrating heat pressed against his back, cutting him off from the frigid air-conditioning of the courthouse, and he felt the sweat pool at the small of his back inside his suit. Soft curves molding themselves to his body, pulling on him from behind, repeating those words over and over again:

“I hate him, I hate him…”

The words were breaking in her throat now, raw and drawn out, and he could feel from the way that she was grinding against him from behind, angling herself again and again against his body, that she was getting off on this, too. Joined together in hatred and love and pain and pleasure.

Her hand was hard around him, almost to the point of aching, but never quite pushing into white streaks of agony that he knew only too well. He didn’t mind, though. He didn’t know whether he wanted the pain or hated it, just that it was always there.

“ _I hate him, I hate him_ …”

He couldn’t even tell who was speaking anymore. Both their voices were a blur in his head. And then he felt a jerk – had she shuddered, or had he? – and he was coming hard and fast on the pristine wall, staining the tile like he did everything else.

“I…hate him…”

The final ragged whisper was his and his alone, and when he finally pried his sweat-slicked forehead off the wall, he was alone.

Or maybe he’d been alone all along.

Maybe the words “I hate him” – so very close to “I love you” – had been his and his alone. But, in the end, it didn’t matter whether she’d been with him or not in body. Fled yet again, or never come to him in the first place. Because, as he washed his hands in the sink to prepare for the next round of his father’s circus, only one thing mattered:

“ _We_ hate him.”


End file.
